


A Different Fate

by skeletonavenue



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: F/F, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonavenue/pseuds/skeletonavenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mia Fey had been the one questioning Dahlia Hawthorne all those years ago?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Fate

You walk with a hard stride down the corridor of the courthouse, and feel the taste of determination on your lips.

You have walked this corridor thousands of times already; from when you were training to become a lawyer, from when you sat in on various other court cases to watch the other lawyers and the judges’ ruling.

But this time, the corridor took you down a right turn towards the questioning rooms.

The checkered tiles beneath your feet seem like they are about to swallow you up into the ground below, and despite your determination, you cannot shake the feeling that something terrible is lurking behind this door.  
  
 _“Be careful, Mia,”_ you remember him saying, in his usual husky tone. _“I wish I could go in your place after all the research I helped you do, but…this might be our only chance to get her. I have a feeling that be it man or woman in that room, she’ll try her techniques exactly the same. Strike while the iron’s hot, kitten. And don’t let her under your skin.”_  
  
“Strike while the iron’s hot…” you repeat to yourself.

Your mouth feels dry now, and you feel nervous. Apprehensive isn’t the word to describe your sudden change in temperament.

You hear a charming voice from behind the door, and a low, gruff laugh, as though from a man inside the room. _If the guard is there,_ you think, _things will be okay._

Your nervousness begins to cease, and you find the courage to open the door.  
  
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Fey! I’m so glad to see a familiar face.”  
  
There she sits; with that beautifully perfect innocent face, smiling sweetly at you as though you had not just tried to swing the death penalty for her a few weeks ago. There is a guard who stands sheepishly in the corner now; arms folded, and looking flustered, whilst the woman who almost ruined your career sits in front of you as sweet as honey.  
  
“I’m here to _question_ you, Dahlia Hawthorne. This isn’t a happy meeting.”  
  
She pouts.  
  
“But…but I haven’t done anything wrong!” she replies, her voice an octave higher than usual. “I believe that was proven during the last case, despite Mr. Fawles unfortunate death.”  
  
You frown with disgust.  
  
“Unfortunate indeed,” you reply, through almost grit teeth. Dahlia smirks, a half arrogant, half knowing smirk that just makes your blood boil, as she sweeps her long red hair over her shoulders.  
  
You clench your fists tightly, as the guard looks awkwardly around before staring at the door.  
  
“Um, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be just outside if there are any problems.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Your tone is sharper than expected, and both the guard and Dahlia notice. Dahlia smirks, whilst the guard sends one final glance back to the perfect girl sitting in the criminal’s chair, and closes the door behind him.

Now only the two of you remain.

Dahlia stretches a little; almost as though she is making herself at home, and knows that nothing bad is going to happen to her.

She has an air of cockiness about her that suggests that you are inferior to her in every way, but she’ll humour your poor excuse of an investigation until she gets bored. And you think to yourself that, even if that is how she wants to play it, you’ll take the opportunity. Anything to get to the bottom of her evil schemes behind that pretty façade.

“So, what did you want to ask me about, Miss Fey?” she asks, suddenly coy.

 It frightens you a little to notice how quickly her personality can switch; but you decide to disregard it for the sake of Terry Fawles’ innocence.  
  
“I did a little looking into your background, Dahlia.” you state bluntly. “It seems this isn’t the first time you’ve been in trouble.”  
  
“Oh, really?” Dahlia begins, falsely interested. “What other times have I been in trouble? Enlighten me.”  
  
You begin to feel a little dizzy from the nerves. But what were you really expecting? You knew that she would be cold, calculating. You knew above all else that this woman was not one to be messed with.

You clear your throat as she smirks darkly again, seeing that you are visibly stressed already, and you sit down opposite her at the large metal table in the centre of the room.

It is only at that moment you notice just how small the room is.

It’s a complete cliché of a questioning room; dark walls, windows with flimsy grating across them, and a lamp hanging down just above the two of you and the desk. Dahlia looks utterly disinterested, almost bored already, as you take out a case file from your handbag with a frown.

This catches her attention.

“…How did you find this?” she asks, not with a tone of alarm or anxiety, but with an almost impressed surprise. You, too, share this moment of surprise, and feel as though you should almost be accepting this as a compliment; she glances at you, and you feel something in you melt a little. What was it about this girl that could send even the toughest of men to nothing more than a romantically-fuelled pile of mush?  
  
“It doesn’t matter how I came across it.”  You retort with pride. “Apparently, there was another murder. When you were thirteen.”  
  
She chuckles to herself and it chills you to the bone.  
  
“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” she replies, lying through her teeth. “I already know what is in that case file. I was a part of the investigation, right?”  
  
“You were. Not only that, but you were also the prime suspect. At _thirteen_.”  
  
She smiles at you again, and folds her arms.  
  
“I heard you the first time. Yes, I was thirteen. But I wasn’t even at the scene that day, my father confirmed that. And after all, do you really think that a thirteen year old is capable of murder? A happy, thirteen year old girl? I had no problems back then, at all. What would have been my motive?”  
  
You pause, and you realize that even though she is lying through her teeth, you almost buy what she is saying. She speaks with such strength and conviction in her own words; she talks as though she wasn’t there that day, despite the fact that all the signs point to the murder being her fault.  
  
“Apparently, the victim was an elderly friend of your father’s, who was refusing to put you all into his will. But when he met his untimely death, you somehow mysteriously appeared onto it. Isn’t that funny?”  
  
Dahlia gasped.  
  
“If you think that is funny, Miss Fey, you should change your sense of humour!” she replies, again, with a voice an octave higher.

You roll her eyes at her little games.  
  
“Besides,” she states, pointedly, and idly removes her almost see-through pink scarf onto the table. “It wasn’t like we needed the money. Do you know how rich my family is, Miss Fey? And what does this have anything to do with anything? Are you trying to link the unfortunate accident with another unfortunate coincidence? It just happens that I was the wrong girl in the wrong place at those times. Surely it’s not hard to believe that a young, frail girl like me isn’t possible to commit such atrocities.”  
 _  
Does she have an answer for everything?_ You think, scathingly.

You fold your arms momentarily, and relax a little in your seat.  
  
“I’m trying to prove that you are not as innocent as you claim to be.” You reply sternly. “It’s not normal for a thirteen year old girl to be accused of murder. And then again at fourteen to be involved in a kidnapping; and then five years later, to be accused of another murder. Another _two_ murders – your stepsister and the man that claims you framed him!”

She pauses, and looks at you. You gasp a little as you see tears suddenly form in her eyes and begin to roll down her cheeks, as she brings one slender hand to her mouth and looks at you as though she can stare into your soul.  
  
“How…how can you be so cruel, to dredge up past memories like that!” she exclaims in such an unbearably delicate, broken voice that it almost breaks your heart to listen to. “They were very terrible times for me, Miss Fey! I had been accused of such a terrible crime, then almost died falling into a horribly forceful river…changing my name, my whole identity for years! How can you be so…so cold!”  
  
You know she’s lying. Every single bone in your body tells you that she is lying. But the way she continues to look at you; the way that she is making you feel so horrifically guilty, and the way she has a genuine expression of distress and discontent written all over her face, makes it very hard to not let her under your skin.

You’re beginning to understand why people fall for this girl within minutes.

_This must have been what he was talking about,_ you think to yourself, and you try to force your conscience away from your mind.  
  
“I’m trying to get to the truth,” you reply shakily, as she buries her face in her hands. You feel a horrible pang of guilt in your stomach, as she rubs at her eyes. You think she is playing with her bracelet slightly as she does so, but your mind doesn’t really pay much attention to it.  
  
She sniffs, and looks up at you. As much as you hate to admit it, she looks beautiful when she is broken down. Her cheekbones seem more noticeable somehow, her eyes seem darker; her lips look pinker. You shake off the feeling that she has slipped into your skin, and sit back again.  
  
“Come on, Dahlia. Stop wasting my time and tell me what really happened that day in the courtroom.”  
  
“There’s nothing to tell!”  
  
“There is,” you reply instantaneously, much to her displeasure. “You are hiding something from me. There’s no doubt in my mind about that, and as long as I live, I’m not going to drop it.”  
  
You consider your choice in words to be a sudden bad selection, but Dahlia seems to not have noticed. She twirls her thumbs around each other, and looks up at you with big adoring eyes.  
  
You feel…odd.  
  
“You know, Miss Fey, I’ve always been vaguely intimidated by you.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
She laughs, so charmingly.  
  
“Because you’re so pretty, of course! You have so much natural beauty, sometimes it’s hard to hear what you are saying without getting lost in it.”  
  
You blush slightly as she stands up from her seat. She has a twinkle in her eye as she looks at you, and you feel a sudden surge of dread in your heart.  
  
“Sit down, please.”  
  
She smiles at you, and leans forward slightly; parasol in hand and scarf back on her neck.  
  
“Am I under arrest?” she murmurs.  
  
You curse under your breath and she laughs to herself.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then I have no legal obligation to stay, right?”  
  
You feel the heavy stone sink in your stomach of disappointment. He’ll be so disappointed that you didn’t get her; and it all feels like it was all over far too quickly and far too fruitless. You will have got nowhere for no good reason if she walks out of that door.  
  
“Well, it’d look better if you stayed and just co-operated instead of leaving early.”  
  
She smiles a little, before twirling around on one pink heel and dabbing at her lip.  
  
“…Okay.”  
  
She places her parasol down on the desk; and before you know it, she’s sat in your lap.

You feel your face blush both from personal anger and also from how good she smells; she looks like an angel, but is the epitome of a devil. You realize you have a psychopath suddenly sat in your lap with her arms around your shoulders, and you honestly don’t know whether to be flattered, terrified, or confused.  
  
“Will you get off me, please?” you ask, half-heartedly and in a mumbled tone of voice.

She smiles.  
  
“I’ll be more co-operative if I sit like this.” she replies. “Though, in all honesty, I don’t know what you expect to get out of me. I have nothing to admit.”  
  
“Then get off me.” You say, with more conviction than the last feeble protest.  
  
She laughs, almost triumphantly, and touches your face with her hands. They’re so soft, you think, and then your hands clench tightly to the chair.  
  
“Your skin is so smooth,” She states quietly, “and your eyes are so brown.”  
  
“What does my appearance have to do with anyth-”  
  
She leans in to your ear, and you shiver as her lips touch them with her speech.  
  
“I’ll tell you everything.” she whispers, and you could swear that you hear an almost demonic grunt after she whispers. But you don’t have the time to contemplate that.

Because before you do, you feel her lips pressed against yours, and her tongue just graze the front of your teeth.  
  
You feel her kiss your lips and cup your face three times. And after the third time, she sits back with a satisfied smile on her face, as you sit with a stunned one.

She stares at you, almost as though she is waiting for something; and suddenly, your throat feels like it is burning.  
  
She smirks, and brushes her lip with her forefinger.

  
“I didn’t say you had to be _conscious_ when I told you everything.”  
  
You feel like your lungs are closing up and a fire is racing up, burning your throat and stinging your eyes. You find it hard to breathe; but you manage to choke out a few words.  
  
“What have you done to me?” you gasp, in a raspy tone of voice; as the chair falls to one side and you hit the floor on your knees.

Dahlia laughs, and kneels down, tinkling her bracelet on her right hand.  
  
“Powder, Miss Fey, can be a very powerful thing,” she states, and grabs your face hard. “At least I wasn’t lying about the beautiful part, but it’s just like you said. As long as you _live_ , you will get to the bottom of this. And I just can’t have that kind of weight around my neck.”  
  
You grunt with frustration, and you want to wrap your hands around her neck; but you feel paralyzed from the body down.

Dahlia sighs heavily, and picks up the chair nonchalantly; and you suddenly feel a terrified sense of frustration, because as your consciousness fades to a fuzzy, black vision, you begin to hear,

“At thirteen, I committed my first murder.”

And nobody would ever know.


End file.
